Oops, I Did It Again
by 3cheersforidiots
Summary: Another compilation :O This one is for Season 2 of IWSC, with 10 brand new stories, 10 brand new rounds, and 10 brand new suffering! Wait, what? Current: Round 10/Finals - Hummingbird - In which Narcissa visits the future.
1. Thunder and Lightning

**A/N: **So the thing about this fic is that I wanted it to be about Severus struggling to complete a task that he needed to do to keep his facade, but it turned out to be more comedic than I had planned so lol

**Also huge thanks to Ninja for her last-minute betaing, Selene and Sabine for the great ideas, and UCL Harry Potter Society for existing lmao**

**Written for IWSC Season 2, Round 1 **\- School: Mahoutokoro, Year: 1, Theme: Malfoy Manor, Special rule: Write a character you have never written before (Snape and Regulus), Main Prompt: (weather) thunderstorm, Additional prompts: (dialogue) "Sometimes doing the best thing for the one you love means doing nothing at all.", (colour) emerald green

**Word count**: 2406 (GDocs)

* * *

"Regulus, I cannot accept this task," Severus said as he lowered himself onto the emerald sofa in the Slytherin Common Room. He had always liked the Slytherin colour scheme, but today, the specific shade of green just seemed obnoxious. That, he thought, was almost certainly because of his current predicament.

"It is indeed fortunate, then, that you have no choice in the matter," Regulus mused.

"You know I can't." Severus shook his head. "There are a great many things I can and will do, and you know that well, but this is not one of those things."

"Look, Severus." Regulus leaned forward in his seat and locked his grey eyes with Severus's own dark orbs. "Nobody cares about your personal feelings here, but everyone knows about your weaknesses. The Dark Lord certainly will as well, once we join his ranks. You would not want to make a bad impression on the Dark Lord himself, would you?"

"...No, I would not."

"Exactly." Regulus wiggled his index finger. "See, this is a world of kill or be killed, and the only way to not be killed is to make a good impression. Of course, you can make good impressions with money; alas," he shot a damning glance at Severus, "you do not have nearly enough sustenance, so you ought to speak with your actions instead."

"But why her?" Severus interjected, his voice cracking with the last syllable.

"This is the golden opportunity for you to dispel all those nasty rumours about you and that mudblood, that's why!" Regulus almost jumped from his seat. "No one will take you seriously if they suspect you are consorting with the enemy. See, I do not actually care about whatever feelings you might have for the mudblood, nor do I have the inclination to tell anyone. But Severus, you have to understand that appearances are everything! If you want to be a trusted member of society, and if you want to lead a good life once the Dark Lord comes out victorious, you have to show that you are committed to the cause. You have to show that you have been committed since the very beginning. No one has to know how you really feel. Actions. Speak. Louder. Than. Words." Regulus spelled out the last few words, pushing Severus down into the cushion more and more with each syllable.

"I…" Severus made a feeble attempt to express his disagreement, but Regulus shut it down with a wave of his hand.

"Severus, you are a useful ally to me. You are not as crazy as people like Barty or Lucius are; you are reasonable, and we can go far in this world if you learn how to show your best face to everyone," Regulus continued. "Do you understand now?"

Severus hung his head, his mouth quirking into a painful imitation of a smile.

"I understand," he half-whispered. Regulus shot him a gleeful smile, while Severus, mentally bashing his head against the wall, muttered under his breath, "You're younger than me…"

* * *

Severus wondered why he had agreed to this whole debauchery as he swirled his wand over his cauldron again and again. Why did he let Regulus drag him into this bad prank again? He was really not so sure anymore. Usually, the Dungeons and the Potions classroom gave him an eerie but welcoming sense of familiarity, but now, he wanted nothing more than to walk out, get as far away as possible, and never come back.

Brewing a potion that simulated the effects of an Imperius Curse was simple enough. Not so simple that anyone could do it, but the low-potency version that Severus needed for his, well, task, was apparently considered appropriate material to teach at Hogwarts.

He briefly glanced behind himself, catching a glimpse of bright red hair. He gulped. He had repeated their entire friendship and eventual drifting apart a million times already in his mind, and regretted how it happened every single time. Deep down, he knew he had blown his last chance already, and that he was never going to get Lily back, especially now that she was dating that bastard Potter.

He did wonder what Regulus' plan was. The young Black heir never told him about what they were going to do exactly, just that they would be making a small demonstration of… their loyalties? Their power? Severus guessed it was perhaps a bit of both.

As he put the finishing touches to his near perfect potion, Severus' stomach sank. He could have messed the potion up; one bad mark was not going to affect his studies, but he didn't. He could just not give it to Regulus, yes, but if there was one thing no Slytherin wanted to do was to anger or disappoint the heir to the most powerful family in the Wizarding World.

He looked at the bright emerald potion that shone in the cauldron. He had never hated his house colours quite as much as he did in that moment. It was no use, though. He would have to grit his teeth and watch as he ruined his own life once again.

* * *

"Will you ever tell me what it is that we're doing?" Severus asked as he handed Regulus the potion.

"Well, there is a thunderstorm coming tonight," Regulus replied, as though that explained everything. Severus raised his eyebrows, prompting him to continue. "And I know from reliable sources," Regulus glanced at Severus, "that the mudblood is scared of thunderstorms."

"So, what it is that you want to do? Make her stand outside during the storm?" Snape shook his head. Nothing made sense in this plan.

"I was thinking more along the lines of locking her in a confined space alone and not letting her out until after the storm, but you have a point," Regulus mused. "If we can scare the girl out of her wits _and_ let people witness, we will have more credibility."

"Let me clarify this," Severus replied. "You want to use the potion on Lily, make her stand outside the castle during the predicted thunderstorm, and gather our housemates to witness. And you think this is a good idea because she's afraid of thunderstorms. What kind of reaction are you expecting exactly?"

Regulus stroked his chin, deep in thought as he replayed the idea in his head.

"Fine," he said after a moment of hesitation. "But we still need to do something." He held the vial up, glancing at the emerald potion with squinted eyes. "And we need to do it with the mudblood."

"Can't it be any _other_ mudblood?" Severus pleaded.

"No!" Regulus half-shouted, his eyes blazing with determination. "We have to give a good impression as hopefuls of the Dark Lord's army, and there is no better way to do that than embarrassing a Gryffindor mudblood who also happens to be the Head Girl."

"What do you propose, then?"

"Well," Regulus began, "the Head Students are expected to give a speech at the end of the term, correct?" Severus nodded. "Term ends next week, so we have plenty enough time to set everything up." Regulus straightened his back, his grey eyes glinting with glee. "Severus, my friend, we are going to ruin the Head Students' speech!"

* * *

Severus stood in the Great Hall's doorway, holding the small vial of emerald liquid in his hands. He was still mentally slapping himself over his decision to be a part of this… prank? That's what it was, for the most part, after all.

Regulus' truly brilliant idea was for Severus to stand like a statue before the speech, wait for Lily to enter, and trip _accidentally_ as she entered the hall. If all went well, the potion would seep into her skin before she could banish it. If his calculations were correct, the effects of the potion would be somewhat diluted since it would not be consumed directly, which meant he would not have access to Lily's thoughts, but he would have enough control over her actions to follow Regulus' instructions, which were simple enough. Just make sure she tripped over herself on her way to the podium, and to make a few speech errors. His task was relatively tame. Too tame, in fact. Severus was absolutely certain something else was in the making, but Regulus had been secretive, claiming if it failed, the debacle would ruin their 'carefully built reputation.'

Reputation this or that, though Severus was not ready for his part. His part was nothing major, if his gut feelings were correct, but he felt guilty about it still. As though everything he had already done was not enough.

He couldn't muse for much longer, though, because a few moments later, the Great Hall's entrance creaked open, and Lily waltzed in, her ginger hair flinging behind her back.

_Here goes nothing_, Severus thought as he kicked his from underneath his body, falling headfirst onto the floor. As he fell, he mustered all the coordination he could to direct the splash of his potion onto the redhead. When he managed to push himself back into a semi-sitting position, he glanced at Lily. She was looking at him with narrowed eyes and cheeks tinted red in suppressed anger, but she didn't say a word otherwise. He arm was dripping with the potion, but she cast a quick Scourgify before turning away again and hurrying down the hall.

Severus exhaled, hissing as he bent the elbow he had landed on. He would have to get that checked out later. For now, it was time to move on to the next stage.

As it turned out, though, soaking Lily in the ominously green potion was easy enough; it didn't gather much attention, so Severus did not have to battle with himself about the right thing to do. But as dinnertime neared its end and Lily was getting ready for her speech, Severus began feeling queasy. Why did he have to do this? He didn't have to do this. Nobody would notice anything. But then, he would lose Regulus as a sort-of friend. A companion. Partner in crime, at the moment. Severus was well aware he needed Regulus as an ally; if he had the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient Family of Black vouching for him, there would be no reason to suspect his motives. Regulus was right about that one: appearances were more important than anything in his situation.

Severus tried his damndest to switch off his emotions. It would be easier that way. Yet, a little tingle was always there, in the back of his head, that was telling him how much he had messed up.

As Lily stood to make her way to the front of the Great Hall, Severus braced himself. He would have to concentrate, just for a short while. When Lily reached the steps to the podium, Severus quietly commanded, "_Trip on the steps._"

Lily took a step. Then another. And another. When she was about to make the final step, though, her boot hit the step just below the rim, and with a sudden horrified expression on her face, she toppled over. Severus' heart was beating itself out of his ribcage. Most students in the all stayed dead silent, but there were a few distinct snickers from the direction of the Slytherin table. Severus saw Regulus nod with a brief smile from his peripheral vision.

Lily dusted herself off and continued to her position, where, after a few seconds of awkward silence, she began.

"Right," she said, not even bothering to mention her fall. "As you all know, today marks the end of the autumn term, and as this year's Head Girl, I just wanted to make a few remarks about the achievements of the past few months and about our future plans for Hogwarts. As you may know…" She trailed off, as though she had seen a ghost. Severus felt the potion's effects wear off immediately. Then, the sound of thunder rippled through the hall, and a lightning bolt struck the floor between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, seemingly out of nowhere. More rumbling followed the lightning, and most of the student body scooted towards the Hall's corners. Severus furrowed his eyebrows, but as he saw Lily jump back, her fear clear as the Black Lake's surface on a sunny day, he understood.

So _this_ was what Regulus had planned. The little piece of…

He could not finish that thought, however, as Dumbledore rose from his chair to demand that the Hall be evacuated immediately. Severus took a final glance at Lily, who was now hurrying towards the back entrance, as he took off from the Slytherin table as well, scrutinising the crowd for any sign of Regulus. He couldn't find him, but there was one thing he was damn sure about: he would have a few nasty words to say once he did.

* * *

"What was that?" Severus burst into Regulus' dormitory room, grabbing the younger boy by his robes.

"A boggart," Regulus replied with a tone suggesting that the happenings of the previous day were the most natural occurrence ever.

"That is not what a boggart looks like." Severus shook his head vigorously.

"Not your boggart, perhaps," Regulus retorted. "I did not actually expect it to actually take the form of a thunderstorm, but I appreciated the comedic effect. On the bright side, I have had multiple compliments coming my way for the idea. Of course, I did not forget to mention our collaboration."

Severus loosened his grip, but his cheeks were still flaming in anger. "You could have told me!"

"Severus," Regulus said, "you have to understand that I do not trust you quite that much. Imagine the consequences, had you decided to intervene instead of going along!"

Severus sighed, letting go of the other boy with a push. Regulus was right; he wouldn't have liked the idea regardless. He didn't even want to do this task to begin with; it was only Regulus' persuasive nature that got him caught up in this mess. "Is it done, then? Did we make a 'good impression,' as you say?"

"I should say so." Regulus nodded. "And I am looking forward to collaborating with you again."

"Perhaps," Severus said, turning to leave. As he stepped out of the dormitory, though, an entirely different thought was echoing in his head.

_Sometimes, doing the best thing for the one you love means doing nothing at all._


	2. Pixie Power Potion

**A/N: This story was born of a combination of the coronavirus news, me writing lab reports and semi-formal emails all the time, and a bit of Harry Potter. Enjoy!**

**IWSC Round 2** \- School: Mahoutokoro, Year: 1, Theme: two or more magical nations/governments/schools working together, Main Prompt: (object) Floo Powder, Additional Prompts: (spell) Portus, (emotion) excitement

**Word count:** 1728

* * *

"Anything else to report?" Kingsley leaned back in his seat. Hermione, deep in thought, roamed her eyes around the small office. There was a dark oak table in the centre and a couple wooden bookshelves lined the walls from all sides. Kingsley himself was sitting in a leather-bound chair that looked too comfortable to be work-efficient. Now that she thought of it, the office seemed way too small and way too dark for the highest-ranking person in the entire Ministry. It was fitting for the current atmosphere, though.

"I do, actually," she said, the hypothetical flashbulb going off in her head. "We received an owl this morning from the Japanese Ministry."

Kingsley, without a word, gestured for Hermione to continue.

"They have an idea. Of what might be causing the outbreak, that is. We might be able to find the cure if what they say is true, but we need your approval first," she rambled in excitement. "Basically, this is not a Dragon Pox. At least, not the normal one. It could be a variant, but either way, the cause is not exactly the same. According to the Japanese Department for Magical Research, the disease seems to be triggered by Floo travel."

"Floo travel," Kingsley reiterated, blinking one, two, then three times. "Is this confirmed?"

"Not yet." Hermione bit her lip. "But!" she added before Kingsley could interject. "We did run a few tests ourselves, and it looks plausible."

"And if it does turn out to be true, what do you propose we do?" Kingsley massaged his forehead. "We can't shut down the entire Floo network in the country. Not to mention telling other Ministries to do the same."

"I'm not the Minister," Hermione said, "so I can't make a decision, but this is the only way to stop the spread of the disease. With some luck, we could have the cure ready in a week or two, but we need to go through the literature on Floo travel and find the counteragent to the exact component that's triggering the disease. Once we have that, we can make a cure, but you have to understand that this is not something we can do overnight. Even with the funding from St. Mungo's, there are only so many of us."

Kingsley contemplated this for a moment. Hermione was borderline shaking in anticipation. She had not realised before, but she really wanted to do this project. She had been doing the small, meaningless work ever since she had joined the Department of Mysteries, but this, this was finally something _stimulating_. Finally, something that would actually have an impact, something that would help the wizarding world move forward. Finally, something Hermione could feel excited about.

"How many people would you need to have it done in 3 days?" Kingsley asked after what seemed like an eternity.

"A lot," Hermione replied. "We'd need to double the size of our current research team."

"If I were to alert the Dutch and Belgian Ministries, would you be able to work together with their people? Word has it they have excellent facilities, and it would be in their best interests to find the cure as well. The number of reported cases is growing day-by-day across Europe, so it is imperative to find a solution as soon as possible, both for the general wellbeing and the public image of Magical Britain. I hope you can understand that."

"Indeed, Minister." Hermione nodded. "Once we have the cure, we can begin looking for preventative measures as well. If you ask me, a refurbishment of the Floo system is long overdue anyway."

"Let's focus on the cure first, Hermione," Kingsley instructed. "I will send a message later today, but expect to be Portkeying to Brussels tomorrow morning. In the meantime, you may proceed with your research."

"Thank you," Hermione said. "Nevertheless," she added, "I would still suggest shutting down the Floo network."

"We'll see," Kingsley replied in a noncommittal tone. "Anything else?"

"No." Hermione shook her head.

"Then you may go." Kingsley nodded. "I'll see you around, Hermione," he noted, his tone noticeably more lighthearted. Magical Britain might have been facing a crisis, but friends were still friends.

"You too, Kingsley." Hermione let out a faint smile as she left the stuffy office. She was bubbling with excitement; she couldn't wait to visit the extensive library in the Department of Mysteries and delve into the Floo network's history.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione flipped through the morning news as she waited for the Patronus that Kingsley promised would let her know about her departure Portkey's whereabouts. The first headline she saw caught her eyes instantly.

_Floo network shut down: _Portus _charm to be removed from Ministry-only whitelist?_

Skimming through the article, Hermione noted that Kingsley had apparently taken her advice and banned Floo travel across Britain. It only made sense that he would make Portkey travel more accessible, she supposed, by lifting the restriction on the Portus charm as well. She also noted from the article that various countries across the continent also implemented the Floo ban overnight.

As she pondered the sheer efficiency of this whole operation she dragged herself into, a silvery lynx materialised in front of her.

"Be in my office in 15 minutes. I have notified the rest of the team as well. You have been given special permission, so will be able to apparate straight there," Kingsley's deep voice boomed across the small living room. The message was short and succinct, and the lynx disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Hermione got to her feet, scanning the room for her suitcase. She did not expect that she'd have to be ready so quickly; she had so much packing to do still!

* * *

Hermione reappeared in Kingsley's office not long after. Her colleagues were already there, greeting her with nods.

"Good to have all of you here," Kingsley said as Hermione faced him. "Everyone here should have received a memo with all the necessary information already, so I hope you all know the importance of this project. Currently, we have a death toll of around a thousand across the continent, but a sharp rise in this figure is predicted, unless we act quickly and find the cure, which is why we need to collaborate with other authorities on the mainland. Hermione will be writing daily reports about the progress of your research. All clear?"

The cohort of wizards and witches nodded in unison, Hermione included. The group consisted of some of the best Unspeakables in the Ministry, so it only made sense that Kingsley had high expectations of them.

"Excellent," the Minister said. "I hope to see you in a few days, then." With that, he handed a rusty, bent cauldron to the group and casted a quick Portus charm on it. Hermione, as her world began to spin in a haze of blue, was again overwhelmed by her previous feeling of excitement. She would be working with the best Unspeakables for the next few days, and on such a high-reward project as well!

* * *

_New Dragon Pox Cure - Report #1_

_We have identified the component that triggers the disease. Pixie tears, the sticking agent in Floo Powder, seem to be reacting with the source of the disease. We are still unsure what the source is, but one of our Dutch colleagues hypothesised that it could be one of the new components in the robes recently introduced across the European market. It would make sense, since the primary target of the disease coincides with those among the first to purchase these new robe types. _

_A portion of our group will follow this lead, and the rest will be working on finding the counteragent to Pixie tears. In the meantime, our recommendation is to remove the robes from the market as soon as possible but sustain the Floo network ban. _

_Hermione J. Granger_

* * *

_New Dragon Pox Cure - Report #2_

_Incredible breakthrough today! We had made an extract from the leaves of bulbous figs that seemed to nullify the effects of the Pixie tears in the Floo powder. We now need to combine this into a potion or ointment, and we can start producing the cure on a larger scale. _

_The robe focus group also had some interesting findings. The Belgian Head of Delegation found that Pixie tears are being used in the production of these robes as well, but they are apparently a modified, synthetic variant of the same ingredient, and it appears that the interaction of these two variants culminates in Dragon Pox-like symptoms. It is less contagious, but more deadly._

_You were right, Kingsley. It is of utmost importance to get this cure out in the world as soon as possible. We hope to have the final version ready tomorrow. Once that is done, we will Portkey back to Britain to discuss the next steps._

_Hermione J. Granger_

* * *

_New Dragon Pox Cure - Final Report_

_The cure is ready. We tested it, and it seems to be counteracting the Pixie tear-interaction, but we have not yet tried it on any patients. I would suggest doing that as soon as possible, though._

_It is a potion, although its consistency is more viscous than standard potions. One of our Dutch correspondents cleverly named it 'Pixie Power Potion.' We voted down the idea._

_The potion takes roughly 3 hours to brew, but we will need professional potioneers, as the recipe is quite complex. In any case, I will enclose the ingredient list and the brewing instructions. We will be Portkeying back tomorrow morning._

_Hermione J. Granger_

* * *

As Hermione's feet touched the Ministry's marble floor again, she could barely contain her smile. They had done it! She had not thought it would be possible to find a cure to such a weird and wildly spreading disease, but they had done it!

"Hermione," Kingsley greeted her. "Good to see you."

"You too, Kingsley." Hermione nodded, her smile still playing faintly on her lips. "I trust you have the ingredient list and the brewing instructions?"

"Yes, I do." The Minister nodded. "Thank you." It was simple, but it meant the whole world to Hermione. For perhaps the first time in her life, she felt like she had done something truly remarkable.

"I…" she began. "It wasn't really me," she said, fixating her eyes on the floor. "I couldn't have done it without the others."


	3. Echo

**TW for blood, dead bodies and panic attack-like symptoms.**

**IWSC Round 3** \- School: Mahoutokoro, Year: 1, Theme: Spell Damage, Main Prompt: (emotion) fear, Additional Prompts: (object) torn t-shirt, (spell) Sectumsempra

**Word count**: 1332

* * *

_This is your duty._

The hissing voice kept echoing in Draco's head, growing louder and louder each time. Draco clutched his head and leaned against the wall, his trembling limbs barely keeping him standing. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to run away, to never have to listen to this voice again, to never have it torment him.

Alas, every waking moment, it was there. A small voice, sometimes barely audible, talking to him, almost cajoling him to keep doing all those horrible things.

_You wouldn't want to disappoint the Dark Lord, now, would you?_

Draco quivered again, this time in fear. He knew the Dark Lord's Crucio too well. It was worse than… well, worse than anything. Worse than Bellatrix's Crucio, worse than his father's. It was almost empty, void of all emotion, as though he was nothing but a plaything, a puppet to his master.

_Perhaps he_ was _a puppet_, Draco thought. He would blindly obey the small voice that kept echoing its sadistic orders, all because he feared retaliation more than he feared what his own self was becoming. No matter how hard he fought, the voice, _his_ voice, would always win.

Suddenly, the voice was gone, and the darkness clouding Draco's consciousness lifted. He was still pressing his forehead against the cream-coloured wall, sweat now rolling down his neck, and his limbs still trembling from the episode. He collapsed on the floor, burying his head in his palms.

It was all because he took the Mark. He did not have these episodes before, but they have become a regular occurrence since then. Blaise didn't have the little voice, but he didn't have the Mark either. But Theo did. And Draco would often see Theo looking more frazzled and on edge, especially before missions. He knew exactly how twisted and dark the Marking Ceremony was, but there must have been something more to the spell that bound him to the Dark Lord as his servant.

It had been torture, the Marking Ceremony. But even afterwards, every time the voice came to haunt him, Draco would feel the same spasms and the same despair as he had back then. The voice was meant to emulate it, meant to pressure him into doing what the Dark Lord has requested of him.

It was no different this time. The Dark Lord had summoned him just a couple hours prior to give him a new assignment. Go to X village, find X house, kill everyone inside. Go, be on your merry way. Make your Master proud.

Draco's body shook. Torture was one thing, but killing was another. He had become numb to torture; he had endured enough to not feel guilt whenever he did it himself. But killing… Killing was different. He could not kill Dumbledore; how could he kill anyone else? How could he march into somebody's home, point his wand at them and end their life without hesitance?

But he feared the consequences more. He could not do it to Dumbledore, but that had been excused. And severely punished. But if he failed again? He didn't know what would happen, but _something _would happen_._

_It's either you or that other person_, the voice rang in his head. Draco clutched his head again and let out a whimper, the burning sensation on his right forearm intensifying with every second. He tried to resist, to block out the voice, but the more he resisted, the stronger the voice got. _Do it. Do it. DO IT!_

Draco collapsed on the floor, his consciousness fading to black.

* * *

Draco was moving his body, but his mind was not in control. His forearm, though, it was burning. It burned with the same intensity it had when he had first received the Mark.

It vaguely registered that he had apparated away, and found himself in a small town, somewhere in the North of England. He was purposefully walking somewhere, but he did not know where. He watched helplessly as his feet carried him to a small house, unable to stop his steps or his arm when it reached for his wand.

Draco could not do anything but stand by as his body marched in and raised his wand arm. His forearm burned even more.

He was screaming in pain and in despair, but he wasn't screaming, not really. His body wasn't screaming. His body was shooting off spells and watching in glee as all the innocent dwellers of the house bled uncontrollably. Even when his body turned to the children, he could not stop himself. He was desperately trying to close his eyes, but he couldn't. He could only watch.

"_Sectumsempra!"_

* * *

When Draco regained his senses, he was standing in an unfamiliar room. He was clutching his hawthorn wand in one hand, while a torn t-shirt was dangling from the other. The t-shirt was soaked in blood, but it wasn't his own. There were no scratches on his hands, there was no stinging sensation, and his skin was the same eerie white as ever.

T-shirt still in his fist, Draco looked up. He gulped back a yelp as he saw the bodies. There was a man and a woman, presumably a wife and husband, lying in pools of their own blood, their glassy eyes staring at the ceiling, void of all life. But worse even, there were two children, lying similarly still and bloodied on the carpet, in what seemed like the living room of the small condo. Children, not even Hogwarts-age yet.

Draco stared at his hands. They were bloody, much like the t-shirt. The t-shirt… It must have been the father's, Draco realised, as the man's torso was bare, scattered with deep cuts. He realised his hands were shaking.

_What happened?_ His mind was spinning uncontrollably, trying to piece everything together, but he just couldn't. He had no recollection whatsoever. The last memory he had was collapsing on his own bedroom floor before blacking out.

He closed his eyes for a second. Then, his tremors came back, along with his fear. _He feared himself._

He had done this. There were only three people in Magical Britain that knew of the Sectumsempra spell. Potter would never use it, not after what happened in sixth year. Severus… He would not use it either. Draco was not sure why, but he knew it had been himself. It was him that killed these people and it was him that tore the t-shirt off the man in a fit of glee. It was all him.

He lowered himself to the ground and pulled his legs close to his chest. What had he become? What had the Mark done to him?

Tears rolled down his cheek as he kept trembling on the bloodied wooden floor, staining the already ruined t-shirt even more. He had been afraid of the Dark Lord before, but now, he had become a monster himself.

_Well done, Draco_, the voice echoed, startling him. _I see you understand now._

* * *

Draco was sitting on his bed, musing to himself about his next mission. It was similar to the previous one. _Go and kill those Mudbloods,_ the Dark Lord had instructed.

He glanced at one of his drawers. He had washed the t-shirt and kept it as a relic there, as a sadistic sort of reminder of what he had done. And how he would have to do it again. And again. And again. Every time, he would glance at the drawer, and he would forcefully gulp down the fear that threatened to emerge.

He feared himself, he feared being found out, and he feared the consequences. But above all, he feared the Dark Lord, and he was reminded of this every time he glanced at the drawer. His Mark would then flare up, a warning signal of sorts, that he could not disobey. It was not an option.

And as he turned away from the drawer, the little voice in his head would keep echoing.

_This is your duty._


	4. True Friends You in the Front

**A/N: I wanted to write Luna for this round, but I've been listening to a lot of BMTH's new stuff and her character doesn't really fit with the bitter and slightly vengeful tone, so this is what you guys are stuck with.**

**ALSO, bullying means coercing somebody (i.e. 'being bullied into doing something'), as well as hurting somebody physically or mentally, so I went with this interpretation.**

**ALSO ALSO, there is a Bonus Scene I wrote to this story that might get published as a standalone (in fact, I have been encouraged to write an MC and I might as well just do it because I accidentally created a new headcanon ship with this story lmao).**

**As always, virtual cookies and huggles to Rayana, Ninja, Sabine and Jenny for betaing and giving me advice on this story! You guys are the best 3**

**IWSC Round 4 - School: Mahoutokoro, Year: 1, Theme: The Whomping Willow, Main Prompt: (emotion) betrayal, Additional Prompts: (dialogue) "That cat looks suspicious." / "You say that about every cat you come across.", (action) searching**

**Word count: 2086**

* * *

"I don't think I'm coming," Padma said, leaning back on the sofa. The room felt foreign, even after all these years; Lavender and Parvati always managed to convince the Fat Lady to let her into the Gryffindor common room, but she had always felt like a fish out of water. All that red and gold, it was too bright, too personal, _too intimate_. Nothing like the Ravenclaw Tower. Even as she sat there, her fingers caressing the plushy maroon fabric of her sofa, Padma wondered why that was.

She spent most of her time with Lavender and Parvati; the three of them had become inseparable almost instantly in first year, and it had been like that ever since. Yet, Padma sometimes felt like her twin had become rash with her actions, sometimes too rash, especially since the beginning of the year. Her and Lavender had become bold, even more so than before. Padma didn't like that. In their current situation, she thought it would have been wiser to stay put.

And tonight, it was no different. Lavender and Parvati had invited her to a party of sorts that they were planning with a few other members of the DA. In the Room of Requirement. Padma didn't like it. With Umbridge's omnipresent rules and decrees and detentions looming over the school, she was wholly uncomfortable with the idea. True, she had not always been like this, but with everything that had happened the previous year—especially the Yule Ball; it had been so terrible, she would subconsciously cringe every time she had thought about it—she had become entirely disillusioned by the idea of parties.

"It will be so much fun, though!" Lavender exclaimed, grabbing Padma's wrist. "Don't you think we need a break from all this stress?"

"Yeah!" Parvati echoed. "Umbridge is such a bitch. We need to show her that we don't care about her ridiculous new regulations."

"Wait." Padma stopped Parvati in her tracks. "Wasn't the idea that Umbridge will never know about it, because it's in the Room of Requirement?"

"Oh, no, she's not gonna know about it." Lavender shook her head. "That's the whole point."

Padma diverted her eyes to the floor, her hands fumbling. She searched for something to occupy them with but, other than messing with the hem of her robe, there was nothing.

"I don't want to go," she muttered, not daring to look at her sister and best friend.

"Oh, come on." Lavender rolled her eyes. "You're always so stuck up, you're almost like Hermione."

"It'll be fun, Padma," Parvati added.

"I…" Padma struggled for words. "I just don't think it's a good idea."

"Oh, don't be such a killjoy," Lavender pushed. "Tell you what, I'll even help you with your hair." Parvati didn't say anything, she just stared at Padma. The Ravenclaw girl could feel the expectation in her gaze, the silent judgement. If she said no, she would disappoint her twin, and she would disappoint Lavender as well. She could feel the silent betrayal oozing from both of them. If she didn't say yes, she would risk the fragile friendship the three of them had.

Padma searched for any excuse that would be acceptable. A deadline that's coming up? No, Parvati would know that's not true; besides, the holidays were coming up soon. Menstrual cramps? No, that wouldn't work either. They had extensively researched period-related spells and potions back in second year, so it was too easy to get rid of. She kept raking through her brain, but nothing came up. No excuses, other than the fact that she did not want to go to this party.

Not wanting to go, though, was no excuse to Lavender and Parvati.

"I…" she began. "Fine. I'll go."

"Excellent!" Lavender jumped up, clapping her hands together. "Let's hurry, then. We need to find you a dress, and get your hair and makeup ready! So much to do, so little time," she rambled as she grabbed Padma's wrist and dragged her up the stairs to the dorm.

* * *

"That cat looks suspicious," Padma pointed at one of the paintings on the corridor, the hairs on her neck bristling as she felt the painted feline's eyes follow her every move. It really didn't help that she felt way too exposed in the dress Lavender had oh-so-graciously given her, nor did it help that she felt extremely nervous, even without the dress, just by being out.

"You say that about every cat you come across." Padma could almost hear Lavender roll her eyes. "I swear, you've been complaining so much lately. Cats, rocks, even the Gryffindor sofas." The brunette shot Padma a raised eyebrow. "Oh, but tell you what?" She turned back, raising one of her index fingers in a eureka-moment of sorts. "This party is gonna be the perfect opportunity for you to let that go. You know, enjoy yourself, not complain about stuff, be normal."

Padma's hand searched for the hem of her robe again in nervousness, but they found nothing but the edge of her dress that hung uncomfortably above her knees. She didn't dare tell them just how little help this party would be, especially because she could feel Parvati's gaze on her. It was the same gaze as in the common room, that silent threat of betrayal, the pressure that if she didn't comply, she would risk something precious.

And so, she kept walking, her hands gripping the edges of her dress as she tried to swallow her uncomfortableness.

* * *

"Spin the bottle!" Lavender screeched over the music, making sure everyone heard her instructions. She even held up her bottle of butterbeer to get the point across.

Padma, who had been content to hang back in a quieter corner for the duration of the party, sighed. She had not enjoyed herself, but at least neither Lavender nor Parvati had commented on her behaviour since they had entered the Room of Requirement. The room itself was a little bit different from what it looked like during the usual DA sessions. It was somewhat smaller, and the lighting was warmer, more colorful, but most importantly, dimmer. There were also a couple of comfortable-looking sofas and tables, where small groups of students would chat over the music while sipping on butterbeer, and some stronger alcohol in a few cases, although Padma couldn't quite make out what. There were at least 30 people in the room, although Padma didn't know all of them.

"Padma!" Parvati called, drawing the Ravenclaw's attention back to the circle that was beginning to form in the middle of the room. "Come over here!"

Padma's hands began searching for the hem of her dress again as she felt her nerves skyrocket. Not everyone had joined the game, and she had thought she'd be able to pass as well.

She… She had never kissed anyone, as weird as that fact might have been to some people, and she didn't really want it to happen like this. Not to mention… Not to mention _he_ was there. She glanced at the blond Ravenclaw who was already sitting cross-legged in the circle. Since she and Anthony had been selected as prefects, she had developed a massive crush on him, there was no denying it. What if he was paired with somebody else? Worse even, what if _Padma herself_ was paired with somebody else? She gripped the bottom of her dress even tighter.

"Padma!" Parvati shouted, glancing at her with raised eyebrows. It was there, that glance, again. Padma, with her gaze attentively following the floor in front of her, made her way over and sat. She tried to find a position that was at least somewhat comfortable in her darned dress, in the end settling for sitting on her heels pressing her thighs together.

"Amazing!" Lavender clapped her hands together, almost bouncing in excitement. "You all should know the rules, but here we go anyway: we spin the bottle, and first spin kisses second spin. No pecks on the cheek allowed," she added, a coy smile playing on her lips as she briefly glanced at Padma.

Padma's world spun. If she had felt nervous before, she now felt betrayed. Was this just some stupid plot to make her kiss somebody? Were Lavender and Parvati setting her up? They had bullied her into coming to this party, and they had bullied her into participating in this stupid game as well, were they going to bully her into kissing somebody she didn't want too?

Padma felt tears prickling her eyes. She didn't want to do this. Yet, she swallowed back the lump in her throat and tried her damnedest to not look at Lavender or Parvati.

"First spin!" she heard Lavender shout. The bottle spun, spun, and as it slowed down, it took painstakingly long for Padma to realise it had landed on her. Of course it did. It was just her luck.

"Oooh," Lavender cooed, and she shared a knowing look with Parvati. Padma tried to fix her gaze on the bottle, but it just wasn't working. The world was spinning around her, much like the bottle had been moments before, and she felt the nerves mix with the betrayal she felt. Her eyes darted around, looking for a way to escape. There was only one door, where they had entered. Besides, if she ran, Lavender and Parvati would judge her.

"Second spin!" Lavender continued, flicking her wand at the bottle. It spun, and spun, and spun, until… Until it didn't. It had stopped. Padma dared a glance, and when she saw Anthony's blue eyes staring back at her from across the circle, where the bottle had stopped spinning, her heart stopped beating for a moment.

Nothing. And then, everything. Her pulse skyrocketed, a massive lump formed in her throat, and she couldn't help her hands gripping the edge of her dress, almost ripping off a piece. She watched as Anthony got to his feet and made his way to her, holding a hand out so that she could stand. As she climbed to her feet, Anthony furrowed his eyebrows, looking at her with concern.

"Are you okay?" he mouthed, making sure no one but Padma could hear it. She gave him a small nod. She could feel the gaze of Lavender and Parvati on her, that same gaze they had been giving her, that pressure, as though they were testing her. It was just as bad a feeling as though they had told her just how much they judged her for not being quite the same. She understood so much better what Hermione must have felt every time Lavender made a remark about her.

Her attention was drawn away when Anthony touched his hand against her cheek. Before she could protest, or do anything else, really, he closed the distance and pressed his lips against hers. It was so quick, Padma didn't even have the time to close her eyes, and even process what had happened before it was over. Anthony stepped away, retreating step by step to his place, while Padma stared ahead, her mind drawing a blank.

Then, the panic crept back up. Her eyes darted around, and when she spotted the door, she ran for it. She heard as Lavender shouted at her to wait, but she didn't process it. She flung towards the door, and ran down the hall, ducking into the nearest tapestry hole she knew.

She heaved, her hands twitching as the panic took over. Her mind spun as glimpses of the last few minutes tormented her. She felt betrayed, like she had been the main act in a twisted plot. Somebody to make fun of, somebody that could be coerced into anything, somebody that _would_ be coerced into anything because she had nothing else.

Tears rolled down Padma's eyes as she recalled the events again. She was struggling to make sense of it. Lavender and Parvati had been her best friends for such a long time; why did she feel like it was all slipping away? Why was she feeling like they were manipulating her. Were they laughing behind her back, and were they just satisfied that she had conformed to their wishes? Since when had her twin sister become so ambivalent towards her?

Padma couldn't take it anymore. She curled up in a ball against the cold wall behind the tapestry, and she buried her head in her arms, crying.

And through it all, one thing kept echoing in her mind: how her friends had betrayed her.


	5. Just This Once

**Big thank you and virtual cookies to Ninja for betaing! Also sorry for this absolute trainwreck of a fic, it was written in roughly 30 minutes.**

**IWSC Round 5** \- School: Mahoutokoro, Year: 1, Theme: Zonko's Joke Shop, Main Prompt: (word) revenge, Additional prompts: (emotion) anticipation, (setting) an empty classroom

**Word count**: 1109

* * *

"What's wrong, Ginny?" The sound echoed through the classroom, sounding strangely foreign to the Gryffindor girl's ears. She raised her head from where it had been resting on her knees to turn towards the unwelcome guest.

"Luna?" Ginny's eyes narrowed at the unexpected appearance of the blonde. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I sometimes come to this classroom when I feel sad. Usually, when the other girls do something mean to me. You know, this classroom is always empty. I read it somewhere that they used to hold language classes in Goblin and Mermish here, but they discontinued them," Luna mused.

"I see," Ginny replied. "So, you're sad now?"

"Kind of." Luna tapped her chin. "I came here to ponder about Dumbledore's death, but I think you're sadder than me right now."

Ginny raised an eyebrow.

"Your head was buried in your arms when I came in, and your eyes look red and puffy. I thought you must be feeling depressed. If you want, I can leave, though. I don't want to intrude on anything."

"No! I mean, actually…" Ginny bit her lip.

"If you don't want to talk about it, that's okay," Luna said.

"No, it's just…" Ginny paused again. "Harry broke up with me. I was just… I just feel a bit depressed about it, I guess."

After a few seconds, she continued. "I feel so angry. Not at him, but… You know, all those wretched Slytherins and Death Eaters, this is because of them!" She felt wrath boil in her veins. She was still feeling depressed, but it was now mixed with an uncontrollable anger, heating her face up so that it now matched the colour of her hair.

Luna moved closer and lowered herself to the floor, crossing her legs next to Ginny. "What do you want to do?" she asked.

"I… I want to fight. I want to get revenge. I want to show them that I'm not some little damsel in distress that needs protection from the outside world. Is that so difficult to understand?" Ginny felt desperate. Anything to get Harry back. Anything to show people she was not somebody to be toyed with. Anything to take revenge on anyone who thought she was not good enough to fight.

"Hm," Luna hummed. "I have an idea."

Ginny perked up. Anything to get her revenge on whoever was responsible for her feelings of depression.

"Well, it's not really fighting," the blonde began, "but we could prank some of the Slytherins you were talking about."

"Pranking?" Ginny stopped her train of thoughts to digest the proposition. It didn't sound like revenge enough, but it was something she knew how to execute. And truth be told, she was looking forward to it somewhat. "What kind of prank?"

"Well, I have an idea."

* * *

Ginny was now squatting next to Luna behind a tapestry, down in the dungeons. The Ravenclaw had cast some sort of charm Ginny was unfamiliar with that had made the tapestry see-through from their side, but apparently not from the outside.

"Just to make sure, this _is_ going to work, right?" Ginny said, glancing at Luna. She was filled with anticipation already, even though no one had walked past them since the two girls had set up their prank.

"I don't know," Luna shrugged. "I think it will. The thread is not visible from here, at least."

"Great," Ginny replied, rolling her eyes. Maybe it was just the frustration she was feeling, but she was not in the mood to converse with Luna, of all people, in that moment. She was waiting, just waiting for somebody to walk past, so that she could get some sort of revenge.

After what felt like hours spent behind the tapestry, Ginny finally caught a glimpse of emerald green in her peripheral vision. She turned her head in that instant, to find Crabbe and Goyle turning the corner and starting down in the direction where Luna and her had set their trap up.

"Luna!" Ginny whisper-shouted, shaking the Ravenclaw's shoulder violently. "They're here!"

"Oh," the other girl turned to face the two Slytherins as well.

Ginny's limbs were almost shaking. She had never been so excited about a prank before, and she fully relished in the anticipatory feeling. Finally, after days of agonising over what had gone wrong with her and Harry, there was a hint of something else. Not just depression, not just anger, not just the yearning, both for Harry and for revenge, but something else. Even if it was just the anticipation of a petty laugh.

As Crabbe and Goyle walked past and neared the trap, Ginny's hold on Luna's shoulder tightened, though the smaller girl did not appear to notice it.

Would it work? Or would it be a complete failure? There was one thing Ginny did not want, and that was to go back to her brooding self. She felt bad when she was brooding. No more of that, thank you very much.

Crabbe and Goyle reached the approximate area of the trip. As one of them took a step forward, there was a soft pop above the two of them. In the next instant, there was a loud 'BANG!' and for a second, everything around the two Slytherins turned black. Ginny waited in anticipation for the smoke to dissipate.

As it did, it revealed the two Sytherins, covered in the remnants of the well-placed dungbombs that had exploded when they tripped the spiderweb-thin thread Luna and Ginny had set up.

Ginny's mouth curved into a smile. Then, she started laughing, almost hysterically. She didn't even notice Luna's low snicker next to her. She just kept laughing, not even sure at what. Was she laughing because the scene was funny? Maybe. Was it because of the small, teeny-tiny satisfaction she felt, having pranked two of her most hated Slytherins? Maybe.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was a laugh of desperation. No matter how much time she put into this prank, no matter how much she tried to distract herself from the reality of her situation, it lingered there. It had not changed; there was still a war, and she was still seen as a fragile girl who cannot fight by many. She had gotten revenge, but she had not gotten _revenge_, just yet. Maybe it was just comical, how badly she was handling this.

Even so, she kept laughing. Even though her world was being torn apart right in front of her eyes, she would allow herself to not care. She would laugh away the pain, before going back to it and struggling to understand and overcome it. Just this once.


	6. Dim

**A/N: **When I looked at this round, I immediately picked up the Underground and Dark!Hermione prompts. I was thinking of a Metro 2033-esque setting. You know, a place where only those survive who put survival first. Enjoy!

**IWSC Round 6 **\- School: Mahoutokoro, Year: 1, Theme: Trackleshanks Locksmiths (Look at those trapped in a situation due to doing evil deeds or the evil deeds of another.), Main Prompt: (setting) London Underground, Additional prompts: (AU) Dark!Hermione, (character type) fallen hero

**Word count:** 2061

* * *

"How much?" Hermione asked. The hood of her dark coat hung over her eyes, casting an ominous shade on her face in the already dimly-lit room. Her gloved hands were resting on the small wooden table in front of her, where lay a picture of what appeared to be an iron-wrought safe of sorts. The room she was in could not have been bigger than a cupboard. What a place to live.

"However much you ask for," the man in front of her replied. He was a Muggle, probably in his early forties, Hermione guessed. He did not seem particularly menacing, unlike many of her previous customers, but the hunting knife dangling from his belt was a telltale sign that he was no stranger to the dubious dealings of the Underground.

"Five hundred," Hermione said, her voice cold, emotionless. "Two-fifty up front, two-fifty when I get back."

"Three hundred," the man said. Hermione expected this; it was rare that her customers did not try to haggle. It was no wonder; these days, money was hard to come by for all but the richest.

"I am not going lower than four hundred," she stated. "Unless a colleague of lower calibre will suffice."

"Four hundred it is." The man nodded. He unlatched a small sack from his belt and pulled out a fistful of oddly-shaped coins, holding them out for Hermione. "That's two hundred, give or take. Three days."

"Hmm." Hermione nodded, although her lips were pursed as she pocketed the coins. She snatchedt the picture from the table and left the room without another word. The room opened to a corridor, similarly dimly-lit by the red emergency lights and similarly suffocating. Hermione's eyes had long since grown accustomed to life in the Tube, but she could not get used to the endless corridors and tunnels; she would often feel as though the walls were closing in on her, threatening to crush her. She would hyperventilate, panic overtaking her senses as she clutched her head and curled up in a foetal position. But then, it would be gone, and she would be back in her quarters, somewhere in the deepest depths of Waterloo station.

A lot had changed since The Happening, but Hermione could still vividly remember the first few days. It had been a mere coincidence that she was near the Tube when it happened. Everything had gone by so fast.

She remembered tons of people cramming into stations before everything was shut down. Those who could not get there in time were left to die. The government was nowhere to be seen; they were likely sheltered off somewhere else. It all happened because of them, because of their actions, and now, everyone else was suffering for it. It all happened because some higher-ups were too selfish, too power-hungry, and now, Hermione was stuck here, no hope of ever seeing the light of the Sun again.

The first few days, it was chaos. Hermione had been with Harry and Ron, back then. The three of them had made a great team: they knew how to survive because they had lived through the war.

That, though, only lasted for so long. It quickly turned out that there was no place for morals in this new life, but Harry and Ron could not cope with that. _It had always been their weakness, _Hermione would often think. Her two friends always wanted to be morally superior, the poster-boys for the Light Side, even when it meant death. And so, they had gone, in what had been a truly gruesome affair, a few mere months after The Happening.

Hermione, on the other hand, had changed. She had tried to lead a respectable life. She tried not to use her magic to her advantage, trying out her hand in trading and helping out the few short-lived humanitarian efforts throughout the tunnels of the Tube, but it was not enough. She had been starving, and her will to live had diminished.

Her survival instincts had kicked in, overriding whatever morals she had left. She was a mere scavenger at first, using magic to steal ingredients and equipment. It was during one of her outings that she met an old acquaintance of hers—Draco Malfoy, of all people—who had presented her with an opportunity. All she had to do was to get rid of some person—she had never learned who they were to Malfoy, nor why they were a nuisance—and she would get enough money to last her a month in exchange.

It had not been the first time Hermione had used an Unforgivable, but killing… It had been different. It had been painful. And yet, somewhere deep down, Hermione knew this was the only way. She was stuck in the Underground for the rest of her life, and this was what would keep her alive. She had since taken on many dodgy missions, from petty break-ins to assassinations, and she would complete them all with surgical precision, using the magic all those Muggles knew nothing about, gaining a name for herself as the best contract rogue across the Tube. She had grown numb to it, maybe even relished in the rewards. From Hero of the Wizarding World to the Most Efficient Wand-for-Hire in the Underground. There was no going back, though. She had had a taste of the Dark Side, and she had done many evil things, and it was going to stay that way until the end of her life.

This mission, it was no different. She was tasked with retrieving a safe with undefined contents from Hampstead Station. Getting into Hampstead was tricky, as it was a well-guarded station, being the last habitable place on the Edgware-bound tracks on the Northern Line. The walk to Hampstead was also a fairly long one, but that was a non-issue. As Hermione retreated into the tent she had set up near the staircase of Russell Square, she began planning her journey to the North-Western edge of what remained of London.

* * *

Hermione was pacing down the tracks, her wand lighting the tunnel somewhat. Her footsteps were barely audible, thanks to the charm she had placed on her boots, but she could still see mice and rats scurry away with each step she took.

"_Homenum Revelio_," she muttered, watching as the charm swept forward. There was nothing at first, but in a few seconds, Hermione saw the sparkling outline of two people in the distance.

_Must be the guards_, she thought. She extinguished the flame at the tip of her wand, deciding not to draw attention to herself as she closed in on the station.

For the next few minutes, she walked in complete darkness, guided by the cries of rats and the light of Hampstead station that grew with every step. Soon, Hermione could make out the two figures, pacing at what seemed to be the entrance. She pushed herself against the slimy wall of the tunnel, trying to stay out of sight as she inched closer.

"_Stupefy. Stupefy,_" she cast when she got within a few metres of the guards. There was no need to kill them, unless her cover got blown.

Hermione waited. If sirens had gone off, she would have to utilise the chaos. If somebody had come by, she would have to deal with them as well. She had to be ready for anything.

Alas, nothing. Nothing but the ringing silence of the Tube's dead tunnels. Hermione let out a soundless breath, jogging her way to the station and climbing up the stairs. She had cleared her first obstacle.

All of a sudden, she froze. There was somebody behind her. She ducked, just in time to see a red flash of light pass her by. _A wizard?_

She spun around, only to be hit square in the head with another hex. It made her feel dizzy, but she could just about make out a man, armed with a wand and a pistol, both pointed at her.

_Shit_, she thought. Scrambling her thoughts, she sent a silent _Petrificus Totalus_ the man's way, but it was quickly dodged. The man cast another curse at her—she could just about make out a _Stupefy_—and Hermione, doing the first thing that came to mind, rolled to the side, casting another _Petrificus Totalus_ at the man. This move appeared to have caught him off-guard. The man was mid-cast of a Protego when Hermione's hex hit him.

He landed back first with a thud, gripping the pistol and the wand still.

Hermione, her head still aching from the dizzying hex, climbed to her feet, taking a few steps closer.

"Unfortunately for you, I take no witnesses," she said. "_Avada Kedavra_. _Finite Incantatem_." The man's body slacked, releasing both the wand and the gun. Hermione _Accio_'d both, breaking the wand in half and putting the gun in a holster she had on her belt.

"Even more unfortunate for you two," she said, turning to the two guards that lay on the ground, knocked out. Briefly, two flashes of green light lit up the tunnels before everything went silent again.

* * *

Hermione made her way through the station relatively quickly. She was familiar with all the nooks and crannies of Hampstead, but she was well aware that there was always something that could surprise her, like the man had that day.

Wizards and witches were not common in the Underground. Despite the government being gone, magic was still a secret to Muggles. Hermione would sometimes come across wizards and witches, usually as guards or traders, but they were few and far between. She was in semi-regular contact with Draco Malfoy, mostly because of the contracts she would occasionally complete for him, but she had not heard anything about any of her other former schoolmates, not since Harry and Ron's death.

As she tiptoed towards the locker room she was expecting to find the safe in, she listened for any noise. It was eerily silent; not many people elected to live on the borders, so stations such as Hampstead were lacking in the usual hustle and bustle that was omnipresent in Victoria and King's Cross.

The door of the locker room creaked, and Hermione stepped in, her eyes scanning the place for signs of a trap. When she found none, she took a few tentative steps forward. _Locker 42_, that's the one. Her eyes soon found the number.

"_Alohomora_," she muttered, and the locker opened with another creak. Hermione almost rolled her eyes; she had expected more of a challenge. The safe was quite sizeable, so she cast a shrinking charm on it and slipped it into her beaded bag. As soon as she shut the locker, however, the blare of a siren went off.

_Fuck_, Hermione cursed mentally. She had two options: try to hide, or make a run for it. _Fuck, make a decision, now!_

Hermione chose to run. She made herself invisible with a quick charm, and she sprinted out the door. Her boots were clanking against the metal floor, and she could already hear shouts coming from behind her. Somebody was chasing her, though they likely couldn't see her. She was running as fast as she could muster, but the shouts were coming closer and closer. Hermione could almost feel the guards' breath on her neck.

As she ran, Hermione frantically looked for an escape. There must have been a vent of sorts. As the guards caught up to her, she caught a glimpse of something. A hole, just above a door that was lining the corridor. Hermione leapt, barely clinging on to the hole. With all the energy she could muster, she pulled herself up, curling up in what seemed like a vent. She watched as the guards went by, panting from her lung-wrecking sprint.

And then, she waited.

* * *

"Here," Hermione placed the locker on the small table, the hood of her cloak once again pulled over her eyes.

"Hmm," the man hummed. "Not bad." He reached into his sack, pulling out a fistful of coins before handing them to Hermione. "Two hundred, give or take."

Hermione nodded, counting the coins without a word. When she was satisfied with the amount, she nodded again, slipping the coins into her beaded bag. As she turned to leave, though, she posed a question. "What's in it?"

The man's mouth curved into a smile. "Something magical."


	7. Clarity of Mind

**IWSC Round 7** \- School: Mahoutokoro, Year: 1, Theme: Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Main prompt: (emotion) feeling patronised, Additional prompt: (object) something of the writer's own creation, (colour) teal

**Word count**: 1268

* * *

Hermione gathered her thoughts as she stepped into the elevator of the Ministry of Magic. She was headed down to the Department of Mysteries, where she worked as an Unspeakable. It was a truly unremarkable morning. She had an early start as usual, and she was expecting to be there all day long, without much of a break, without seeing much sunlight.

Most of the time, she would be fine with that, since after the War, she would often crave to just be alone with her thoughts, to be away from the newspapers, to be able to make sense of what she felt. But perhaps not today; today, she wasn't really feeling like working in the dark, damp, claustrophobic chambers of the Department of Mysteries.

And for a good reason. Lately, she had felt as though she was exploited by the Ministry. For all that she knew she could do for the Wizarding world of Great Britain, she had never really seen rewards for her creations, despite all the effort and all the time she had put into creating and studying magical theory. She was fairly certain that there were not many witches and wizards out there who put as much effort into discovering more and more of how magic works than she did, and yet, there was just no recognition whatsoever. Whenever she finished a project, she would have to hand it over for the Minister for distribution, and although she would be credited in some ways, perhaps in the form of a piece of news being written about her in the Daily Prophet, nobody would hail her as the inventor.

Not that she really expected to receive recognition, not that way, at least. She did not want to be a celebrity; she had had enough of that lifestyle already. What she did want, though, was to be remembered for all that she did, and to be thanked, just once. She was doing her work because she loved doing it, not because of the prospects of such a career. Yet, she could not help but feel as though she was but a puppet.

The elevator reached Level 9 with a ding, and Hermione stepped out into the dark, elongated corridor that stretched into darkness.

Her steps echoed through the empty hallway. _Tap, tap, tap_. As Hermione moved forward, a feeling of exasperation enveloped her. She had joined this career to help the wizarding world, not to be treated like a disposable servant. She had not joined this career to be looked down upon, to be disrespected by most of the wizarding world.

Such was life, though. As an Unspeakable, most of the wizarding world had no clue what she was working on. Most of them thought all Unspeakables were insane because of the 'barmy' experiments they did. They would often be taken as secondary citizens, unimportant because of their lack of contribution to society. Even her friends had begun to look at her in a different way, as though she had become an enigma of sorts, too mysterious to truly understand.

Having passed the protective enchantments around her office, Hermione sat on the wooden chair behind her desk. The office stood in contrast with the dark corridors, with its cream-coloured walls and the oaken bookshelves. It was almost cozy, almost devoid of the eeriness of the rest of the Department.

Hermione's right hand reached for her left. She caressed the ring that was sitting on her index finger. It was a rather simple ring, except for the teal stone adornment. Although Hermione was not a fan of flashy jewellery, this was a piece she always wore, no matter the time or the day.

Teal was her favourite colour. It represented clarity of thought in many magical myths, and, accordingly, most mind-clearing potions had this colour, their potency signalled by the subtle shade variations. Teal was very much the colour of Hermione. The stone, though, was special for another reason. It had been one of her first creations as an Unspeakable. She had laced the stone with a number of protective charms and infused it with her magical signature, which in theory had meant that whatever charms she put on it would only be activated for her. She had not tested what would happen if anyone else was to wear the ring, although her educated guess was that it would not end well.

She gazed at the stone for a long time. It served as a reminder as to why she chose this career, and gave her energy to keep going, even when she felt unappreciated.

Finally, looking away from her ring, Hermione picked up the purple envelope that sat on her desk. She opened it, scanning the words with growing frustration.

_Still waiting on the results of Operation Seaweed. Better tell your colleagues to hurry up, Ms. Granger. I wouldn't want to disappoint the Department heads up there. Surely, since you're spending all your time in the dungeons, you must be making some progress._

No signature. Hermione, leaning back in her chair, tried to calm herself by twisting her ring around her finger.

What an arsehole. She had told the higher-ups in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures numerous times that she can't just snap her fingers and have an on-demand English-Mermish translation device ready, which was the ultimate aim of Operation Seaweed, but to no avail. And this, this was yet another condescending reminder that she better do her job, or else. As though she was a damn child, as though she had no understanding of deadlines and the flourishing bureaucracy just a few staircases up.

She balled her hands into fists. She wanted to leave. She wanted grab her teal ring and smash it into pieces, to rip the letter and then burn it. She could just about imagine herself throwing the ring across the room, burning the letter, and fleeing the Ministry. Never looking back, she would go and find something else to do, at a place where her work was appreciated, where she was not looked down upon, where Ministry officials didn't speak so condescendingly to her.

Hermione could feel her cheeks heating up in anger. It was unfair, and there was not much she despised more than unfairness. Oh, what she would do to well and truly hex everyone who had sent her a purple letter in the past few months.

She glimpsed at her ring. Its effect was instant; although Hermione still felt angry, her mind had cleared somewhat. The thoughts of her leaving the Ministry behind had mostly dissipated, although she still felt uneasy.

Hermione sighed, glancing again at the teal stone. She could almost feel the stone working its magic through her nervous system, bringing her back from the edge of snapping.

This had become a routine also. Whenever Hermione felt the urgent need to destroy everything to do with her Unspeakable life, she would look at her ring, and it would help her. It was a therapy of sorts that helped her deal with the mental strain. It was no different this time.

When Hermione deemed her mind sufficiently clear, she reached for the letter again. She crumpled it up and with a swift throw, landed it in the garbage can situated next to her desk.

She took one last glance at the ring before hiding it under her robe again. She stood, readying herself to leave the office and get to work. No matter the insulting letters, she had to continue working. After all, she was doing it because she liked it, right?


	8. Duty and Temptation

**IWSC Round 8** \- School: Mahoutokoro, Year: 1, Theme: Little Whinging (4 Privet Drive), Main Prompt: (object) family heirloom, Additional Prompts: (location) muggle playground (plot point) segregation

**A/N:** I went with a kind of quirky interpretation of segregation. You know, most people will think of segregation as separating two groups of people in space in some shape or form, usually enforced by law or something akin to that, but segregation can also be about standing out from a group of sorts. The way I try to present it is somewhere in between these two, I suppose.

Also, thank you and virtual cookies to Ninja and Jenny for betaing!

**Word count:** 1025

* * *

"_A pack of Muggles surrounded her, bloodlust hanging in the air as pairs of filthy Muggle arms grabbed her limbs. Elizabeth struggled as the Muggles dragged her out of the tavern, towards the wooden stake in the centre of the town square. She knew there was no reasoning with Muggles; once they were convinced of her being a witch, they would try to get rid of her in any way possible. _

"_Elizabeth gathered whatever strength she had and reached for her magical core. Suddenly, a burst of energy coursed through her veins, giving her the power to break her limbs free from the iron grips of the filthy Muggles. She fell to the floor, unsupported by her legs, but she quickly gathered herself. She had to run, run away from this wretched town. It was safer at home, where charms protected her from harm._

"_As soon as she got on her feet, Elizabeth ran, never looking back. She ran past the sign that welcomed visitors in the town, ran far away from all those Muggles, back to the safety of her grandfather's Manor. As soon as she arrived, she swore not to mingle with Muggles, ever again."_ Thoros shut the book on his lap. It was a small, emerald green book, its pages yellowed and wrinkled from having been read so many times. The book had always fascinated Theo; despite its negligible size, there was a new story every time his grandfather read from it to him. Theo had asked his grandfather how the book was made, but he would never give a straight answer.

"Well, Theodore?" Thoros asked. "What did you learn from this tale?"

"Muggles are scary," Theo answered. He had never met an actual Muggle before, but every story he had heard portrayed them as barbaric and feral. They kind of scared him. Would the Muggles try to kill him too, if he met one of them?

"Hm." Thoros stroked his chin. "I suppose that could be right. What else?"

"That we should not mingle with Muggles?" Theo asked.

"Indeed. It will bode well to remember that." Thoros nodded. Then, with a solemn face, he extended his arm, holding the book out for Theo to take. He said, "Here. You shall now take care of this book."

Theo reached for the book, examining it from all sides as his hands caressed the ancient binding.

"You should know, however," Thoros continued, "that this book has been passed down in the family for generations. Your father had heard these tales when he was a child, and so did I. It will now be your responsibility to pass this book and its teachings to your heirs. I am hoping that you will not disappoint the Nott name."

Theo, eyes fixated on the emerald green cover, mumbled, "I will not, Grandfather."

* * *

This was the first and only time he sneaked out, Theo promised himself. He knew he was not supposed to, but the prospect of freedom, of learning something new was too tempting to pass up. He knew he would have to get back to the Manor in an hour or two at most, in time for supper.

He had known that there was a small Muggle settlement near the Manor, because his father would occasionally visit the village to conduct business. Theo would observe his father leaving in a specific direction these times, so he had a fair idea of where this village could lie, and sure enough, he found himself surrounded by quirky little brick buildings following a twenty-minute walk from the Manor.

He tiptoed down the street, trying not to draw attention to himself. He had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Despite the intrigue that had engulfed him every time he had thought of the village, he was now reminded of the story he had heard from his grandfather not that long ago. He remembered the small green book that was full of stories about all those scary Muggles—the same book that was weighing down the sack Theo had brought with him.

Was he going against his family values? He didn't know for sure.

As he neared a junction at the end of the road, he walked by what seemed like a small garden of sorts. There were trees and flowers, so it looked like a park, though it was the strangest garden Theo had ever seen. It had some metal contraptions, but Theo couldn't tell what their function was. He saw a few children, too. Theo guessed they were of a similar age, though he couldn't be sure. Some of the children seemed to be climbing one of the contraptions, while others were swinging on another of what must have been giant toys of sorts.

A strange feeling came over Theo. Those children seemed to be having a lot of fun with the contraptions, and Theo wished he could also have fun with those children. Then, he reminded himself that these were Muggles. They were supposed to be scary. If they spotted him, they would try to stake him as well, and because he was underage, he would not be able to cast any spells to save himself. He was not like Elizabeth from the story.

Theo kept peering over the fence that separated him from the strange garden with the Muggle children. He wished he didn't have to hide; he wished he could mingle with other children and have fun. He wished he could be on the other side of the fence, play without having to fear the moment his play-partners turned on him.

The book in his sack felt heavier than ever before. As Theo finally tore his gaze away from the strange garden and the metal contraptions, he reached for it, feeling its shape through the leather sack. His duty was to protect the Nott name. He could not bend to temptations. Moreover, he could not risk his life, even if it promised more fun than any of his father's lectures would.

Theo turned away, heading back to the Manor. Wizards and Muggles were not to mingle. Besides…

Besides, Muggles were scary, wasn't that right?


	9. Bloom

**IWSC Round 9** \- School: Mahoutokoro, Year: 1, Theme: Chamber of Secrets, Main prompt: (feeling) expectancy, Additional prompts: (word) careless, (season) spring

**A/N:** I used 'careless' in the 'carefree' sense of the word, as this bubbly, giggly sensation when you just feel happy, irrespective of anything else. Also, in terms of the theme (secrets and/or self-discovery), my idea was that animagus training is essentially a form of self-discovery: to find your animagus form is to find yourself, and you really do need to engage with who you are as a person to do it, so self-discovery and your animagus form are inherently linked.

**Word count**: 1070

* * *

Luna sat in the Room of Requirement, her eyes closed, only the subtle sound of chewing breaking the silence that reigned. The room was simple: it had a desk with a cauldron on top. In the cauldron, a potion was brewing that would bubble up once in a while, but would otherwise simmer quietly. There were also a couple of pillows thrown in one of the corners, where Luna meditated. There were no decorations, only a window through which moonlight shone in.

Although the scene was quiet, Luna's thoughts were racing. Today was the day, she could feel it. It had been exactly a month; today, her animagus form would come for her. Whenever she meditated, she would feel tugs in certain directions; she would see shadows and would sometimes hear ominous noises, but nothing ever gave away the exact form she had been looking for.

As Luna closed her eyes, she was transported to a familiar scene, the one she would always see in her meditations. It was always the same: a small clearing, surrounded by cherry trees. At first, it had been cold, with the last remains of melting snow still visible on the tree branches and the lake half-frozen. Luna had shivered from the cold that had hit her.

Now, though, it was spring: at first, the cherry trees had only had buds when she began her meditations, but now, they were in full bloom. The sun also felt hotter than when Luna had first meditated, and instead of pale green, the grass now looked healthy and strong, with flowers popping up here and there. The lake was not frozen; it was so clear, Luna could have used it as a mirror if she wanted to.

She was not interested in looking at herself in the frozen lake, however. She felt fidgety, expectant. Something was bound to happen soon, she thought. She could feel just how close she was to the answer she had been seeking.

She heard a noise. Rustling leaves, maybe? Perking up, she turned towards the source of sound. Maybe this was it! Her heart was pounding louder and louder as she stepped closer to where she had heard the rustling from. Step after step, she closed in on one of the cherry trees. Luna reached the tree, waiting from something to happen. For a moment, the world stood still as Luna held her breath, waiting for her animagus form to reveal itself.

But then, she heard more rustling, from a different direction. Did it run away? Luna turned towards the new sound's direction, this time slower than before, trying not to alert whatever creature was waiting for her. Luna's heart was in her throat: surely, it would not be long.

She took a few silent steps in the new direction, careful to look at her every step, trying not to rouse the ambience of the clearing, even with her now shaking limbs. She neared another tree, identical to the previous one. She took a circle around it, inspecting the small pink flowers for any signs. For yet another painfully long moment, nothing happened as Luna stood, waiting for any signs. She knew something would happen. Something had to happen.

It was then that she noticed. One of the branches glowed, its striking golden colour offsetting it from the rest of the tree. There was a tug in Luna's stomach, an indescribable need to reach for the branch. And so, she did. As soon as her fingers touched the branch, the golden glow moved away, towards the tree's trunk. Still feeling the ominous tug, Luna reached for the glow again, but it moved yet again. Soon, the glow was too far up for Luna to reach from the ground.

She gripped the bark, hoisting herself up. She tried to balance herself as she climbed the tree, reaching for the golden glow.

Wow, my form really wants me to work for them, she thought. But she could not give up. She was too close to give up now, and she could not shake the expectant feeling that had been sitting in the pit of her stomach ever since she entered the clearing, driving her this far.

So, she climbed, and climbed, and climbed. As soon as Luna reached the top of the tree, something unexpected happened. The golden glow, following one of the tree's veins, shot all the way down, disappearing into the grass. Luna blinked and tilted her head. That was curious. Not knowing what to do, she climbed back down, careful not to slip or make much noise.

As her feet touched the ground, Luna fell deep in thought. What could she do now?

She felt a tug towards the ground. Maybe she needed to look further down? Luna squatted, inspecting the tree, but the tug kept dragging her down. Even further down? She was now looking at where the tree's trunk met the grass. Then, she saw it. The tree had transformed in front of her eyes, and soon, where only a few seconds ago only the tree's bark sat, there was now a small hole, encased by the golden glow.

Luna's heart started pumping wildly again. This was it! She sat, waiting for a few seconds. Then, a small bunny emerged from the hole, and Luna just knew that this was it. A bunny. A small, white, fluffy bunny that seemed to be looking straight at her, as though it was trying to telepathically tell her something.

Luna felt liberated, careless. She had finally found her animagus form! She could not contain her smile as she skipped back towards the lake, the bunny hopping away in tow. She giggled, feeling excited, perhaps even more so than she ought to. For a moment, she let herself revel in this carefreeness. She let herself be truly happy, not having to care for all her problems in the outside world. For the briefest of moments, Luna let herself appreciate the cherry blossoms, the small flowers that were blooming beneath her feet, and the clear view of the lake.

She knew this was only the beginning of the road. There was still a lot of training ahead of her, learning to become one with her animagus form. Luna was looking forward to the journey, although she knew it would be difficult. But for now, she was happy to not have a care for the world.


	10. Hummingbird

**IWSC Finals** \- School: Mahoutokoro, Year: 1, Theme: Time Travel, Main Prompt: (character) Narcissa Malfoy, Additional Prompts: (creature) a hummingbird, (setting) Malfoy Manor

**Word count:** 2078

* * *

Narcissa sat in her room, gazing at the setting sun on the horizon. It was truly beautiful, the sunset. Yet, she could not enjoy it to its fullest. There was a dark undertone to everything she felt, ever since the Dark Lord had taken up residence in Malfoy Manor. The sunlight seemed darker, the sunset seemed gray, the flowers in the garden were paler, and even the various animals in the garden seemed to have felt the Dark Magic that loomed over the estate.

The beauty of the Manor had been tainted, infested, so to speak. Narcissa wilted along with it. Most of the time, she felt fear. Fear of the Dark Lord, fear of what would happen should the war near its end, fear that she might be stuck like this forever. Perhaps depressed, even.

As her eyes wandered over the bright oranges and reds of the sunset, Narcissa heard a chirping noise. _Chirping? Curious_, she thought. None of the birds were supposed to come inside; they were to stay in the garden, lest they disturb _someone_ in the Manor.

Narcissa looked around, trying to locate the source of the chirp. After a few seconds, her gaze landed on a small hummingbird, perched on the edge of her desk. It was looking at Narcissa almost intently as it let out another chirp. What was it doing there? Hummingbirds were not native to the British Isles, and if she remembered correctly, the last attempt to bring hummingbirds into the Manor's garden went terribly, barely avoiding a bloodbath between all the other species.

Yet, hummingbirds were such curious creatures. Narcissa had always had a soft spot for all sorts of exotic birds, similarly to how Lucius had always held his albino peacocks in high regard. If it wasn't for her designated role as a socialite in the wizarding world, she might have been a researcher… Alas, it was never meant to be.

She stood, taking long strides towards the desk, scooping the hummingbird into her hands as soon as she could. The bird, unconcerned, kept staring at her, as though it was sizing her up. It chirped again, but this time, something happened. The bird itself transformed into a vial, with a note attached to the cork. The vial contained a bright pink potion, which Narcissa could not recognise. Cautiously, she put the vial back on the desk and untied the note, rolling it out in her hands so that she could read it.

_Drink this, and you shall see what will come to pass._

What will come to pass? The future? Narcissa hesitated, contemplating what to do. She was not sure what 'seeing what will come to pass' meant, but she had a nagging feeling it was something important. Maybe she would see what was going to happen with the war? Maybe this was going to help her get the Dark Lord out of the Manor? She had to admit, she was overcome with curiosity.

In any other world, she might not have taken the potion. But in that moment, Narcissa could not help herself: there was nothing else to guide her through this war, nothing else that could point her in the right direction. It was out of desperation. She uncorked the bottle and gulped down the potion. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Narcissa felt a tug in her stomach and disapparated.

* * *

She landed in what seemed to be the Manor's garden. Except, the flowers had all wilted, the soil was dried up, and the usual buzzing noise had died out. It was as though no living being remained in the garden. The sun was setting outside, much like it had been before Narcissa left—in the past?—but the dusk seemed to be grayer this time, like the sun was dying, not merely retiring for the night.

Narcissa shuddered. The air was heavy with Dark Magic, almost fogging the estate. It was similar to a choking sensation; it was as though the estate's magic was pushing on her neck, and Narcissa could barely breathe from it. She made her way out of the garden and towards the patio leading to the entry hall. Looking at the Manor's walls, it seemed as though they had darkened as well. Foul magic was seeping from the brick and wood.

Something terrible must have happened here. Narcissa did not know what, but she had a feeling the war had turned for the worse in this timeline, if this really was the future. Something had gone wrong, and the Manor, _her home_, was now in ruins, tainted by whatever horrible things had been done to it.

Then, it occurred to her. What happened with her family? Had Draco and Lucius been injured? Were they even alive?

The freezing feeling of fear washed over her gut. She had to protect them. There was nothing else left for her, no other family. She had to do something, anything, to stop this from happening. She would never be able to live down the guilt if her husband and son suffered without her having tried.

All of a sudden, it felt as though something was pulling Narcissa's head down, like something heavy had settled inside her skull. Then, her vision went black.

* * *

_Narcissa found herself in the drawing room of the Manor. It looked exactly the same as it did before she drank the potion. It was dark, and the ebony furniture loomed in what was almost a threatening manner over her and the rest of the room's occupants. There was some light shining through the windows, but the scene in front of her looked grim nevertheless, no doubt exacerbated by the lingering Dark Magic._

_That, however, was not the most alarming. Patches of blood covered the floor, drawing a path to where three people sat, each bound to a chair with silvery ropes that appeared to have been made of magic. Narcissa instantly recognised them as Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Draco always referred to them somewhat spitefully as The Golden Trio. The Boy-Who-Lived and his two friends, the posterpeople of the Light Side, now defenceless. The girl was bleeding heavily from one arm, while Potter's face seemed to have been beaten to a pulp._

_Perhaps even more terrifying, though, was the figure standing across the drawing room. The Dark Lord himself, wearing a sly smile, twirling his wand in his fingers. Next to him stood Bellatrix with her trademark manic grin, and Draco. He looked sullen, almost fearful. Something had happened with him, Narcissa could tell. She moved to reach for her son, but she found herself stuck in one place. Her boots were glued to the floor, and when she scrambled for her wand, she could not find it anywhere._

"_Draco!" she shouted, but no one appeared to have heard. Was she in a memory?_

_The Dark Lord pointed his wand at the Granger girl, then at the Weasley boy, firing off two quick _Avada Kedavras_. His wand movement was light, careless. Killing those two meant nothing to him, it seemed._

"_It would seem your futile efforts have come to an end, Harry Potter," he hissed, turning to the Boy-Who-Lived. "At last, the Wizarding World shall meet its one true ruler. _Avada Kedavra_!" A green jet of light erupted from the Dark Lord's wand, hitting the Boy-Who-Lived square in the chest. The Dark Lord flinched, hesitating for a second. It seemed as though killing the boy had hurt him somehow, and he took a good few seconds to recover, though he was trying to keep his composure the whole time._

_Soon, however, he regained his focus. Then, for good measure, he aimed his wand at the boy again and shouted, "_Avada Kedavra_!" _

_And again, and again, and again. No less than a dozen Killing Curses must have hit the Boy-Who-Lived, or at least, what remained of him. There was no way he could have survived that. The mortal enemy of the Dark Lord was dead, presumably for good._

_Satisfied, he now turned to Draco, who had been watching the scene unfold in stunned silence, his eyes giving away some of his worry._

"_Draco Malfoy. You have done a great service to me, identifying the Boy-Who-Lived and summoning me. For this, you shall be duly rewarded."_

_Then, Narcissa's head began to feel heavy again, and the scene faded._

* * *

She woke at the exact same place she had been before: near the front porch of the Manor. The sky was the same faded gray, and Dark Magic loomed over the estate still. The grass was yellow, and the trees had shedded all their leaves.

As Narcissa tried to gather her distraught thoughts, another hummingbird landed on her shoulder. It chirped, though less jovially as it did before. As Narcissa cradled it in her hands, she noticed its feathers also seemed to be more faded; some had even fallen out, leaving patches of its skin bare.

"Poor thing," she muttered, petting the bird, careful not to hurt it. The hummingbird chirped again as it bore its eyes into Narcissa's, turning into a potion vial once again, which was now filled with a pale blue liquid. There was a piece of parchment attached to it, much like the first vial had. Narcissa, after carefully dismantling the note, rolled it out and read it.

_Save the prisoners. Please. Or your family will die._

Narcissa furrowed her eyebrows. The prisoners? Did the note mean the wandmaker, the goblin and the Lovegood girl? That didn't make much sense. She wasn't sure why those three were so important, except maybe the girl. Perhaps she had something to do with Harry Potter, though she wouldn't know. Nobody ever told her anything that was discussed at Death Eater meetings, so the reason for keeping those prisoners was unbeknownst to her.

Yet, the note asked her to free the prisoners, so free the prisoners she would do. She had a feeling it might have had something to do with the memory she had just seen, though she could not quite connect the dots just yet. Draco… What the note said… The Dark Lord said he would be rewarded, but clearly, something terrible must have happened after the memory. The note said he had _died_.

She was sure the truth would eventually reveal itself, but she knew there was no time to ponder. She had to do something. Anything to see her family and the Manor alive at the end of the war.

She looked up at the Manor before uncorking the bottle. In one of the windows, she noticed a familiar face staring at her. Her blonde hair, the typical facial features of the Black family, her robes… She was staring at herself, from the future.

Narcissa noticed her future self had considerably more wrinkles, and the life seemed to have been sucked out of her. Even from a distance, her eyes seemed empty, devoid of almost all emotion. She was not sure why, but an unshakeable feeling of dread awashed Narcissa.

Her future self nodded, then turned away and left the window. Narcissa, her hands shaking somewhat from the fear that had settled in her stomach, held the bottle to her lips.

_Free the prisoners_, she thought as the cold liquid raced down her throat.

* * *

As soon as Narcissa's feet touched the wooden floor of her bedroom, she felt a rush of hurry come over her. She had to alert someone, preferably a person that could help her and would not turn back on her.

She had to do something, for the sake of her family, for her garden, for everything she held dear.

Free the prisoners, but how? They were always guarded by Death Eaters.

Someone that could help her… Anyone.

After what felt like hours of pacing, she came to a decision. As much as it pained her, she knew this was the only way. Nobody else would be willing, not even her husband. There was only one person she could trust to follow her advice in these times, and maybe salvage what she had seen would become of their future, should they fail this task.

It was only fitting. In their future, he had been the one to discover Potter and his friends. He was the one who was supposed to be rewarded for that, but would ultimately die. It had to be him, though Narcissa's heart ached to think as such.

She had to alert Draco.


End file.
